Categories > Original > Fantasy > Mira mi va Hell ta

A Slim Chance of Survival

by blood-fangs-of-doom 0 reviews

Mira is the 'golden child'. She was the prophesied one who was going to save them all. But the future is not exactly promising to her life, and she is tempted to becoming the one thing everyone des...

Category: Fantasy - Rating: PG - Genres: Action/Adventure, Fantasy - Warnings: [?] - Published: 2005-12-11 - Updated: 2005-12-12 - 802 words

Kurda, now a grown man of 19, straightened himself straight as he raised his chin and looked up at the blackening sky. It would be soon now. After all those years of training, of learning magic and art, shedding sweat and exhaustion, he would now have to test his strengths. The invasion to his home will come soon now. He bit into his lips as the sky blackened with every minute. It was a warning, a mocking sign sent by Vlteras himself. Nothing will stop him and his supposed heir that has now been rumored for the past few months.

But Kurda, he knew this rumor was true. He had already seen a few of his friends go out to challenge the enemy with his army of trustworthy men, only to come back with wounded men and hurried death wishes. He despised the enemy dearly, for what he did to make his people fear. But he also hated the heir. The heir he knew so well about. It was Mira, he knew it. The golden child that had turned to the dark. The one that was supposed to save them all. Without the golden one, the fight to save his people was impossible. If only... if only he had been more smart enough to stop that black cloud from entering Mira.

He felt terribly guilty for that. When he was a little boy, he had come across a scene where the golden child had been crying. He had been little, and he didn't understand the pain she had gone through that day then. But now he knew, knew from experience now. That pain Mira had endured, those suffering eyes that looked up at particularily no one but at the comforting skies. Kurda knew now. HE should have helped her, the lighter side of her that could have been pulled back, away from the temptation of evil. Yet he hadn't. He had just watched there with stupidity and complaint crossing on his face, with a hint of curiousity to prove it.

He kicked the mud on the ground. It had rained before and it looked like it was about to rain again. He shook his half dripping hair away from his watering eyes. But he bit hard on his lips and managed to stop himself from crying. Self-pity would do him no good. And what was done can may be redone. He may be able to save what was left of Mira's lighter side. But if only he had a chance to reach through it.

Kurda was now 19, and at that age, everyone was to be either a enchanter or soldier. He had chosen the path of enchanter. He was better with an enchanted bow and sword than a sword without the marks or magic. He also knew the arts of Eleveratu well, for he read the Textbooks of Ulutra throughly when he was a child. But if there was a chance to save his village, he would take it. And he knew what he must do to take that chance.

Kurda looked teary eyed at the village as rain pelted down at his uniform, which consisted of a dark green robe, with the crest of the Ulugthar on it. He put his hand into his pocket, brushing his dripping hair back as he opened his water proofed book. The waterproof shield around the particularly small book he held washed away the beating rain. Picking through the book gave warmth speeding through him. He flipped the pages, sticking his hand into the book's shiled, so his hand was also waterproofed.

Inside, the book had nothing inside. But as quickly as he flipped the right page of the book, words started to drift into shape, forming a picture of a wolf and lightening on the page. Below the two pictures, a single word of ancient Ulugthar appeared on the tips of its pages. Kurda gasped, fear flickering in his eyes. But he quickly shut the book and hesitating for a bit, put both his pinky finger into his lips. And then he whistled, a clear soothing whistle that rang through the area to warn of any newcomers. The wolves of Pophilia were coming, and it would rip away at anything living. But it wasnt after life, it was after blood, rich clear lively blood. Kurda breathed in air through his nose and whistled again, this time more clearly than ever. But it was not a whistle to warn. It was a whistle to depart, to signal that he had business to attend to in the far south, where Vlteras's lair lay.

Kurda took a step to go, after letting his fingers crawl back to his warm pocket. But a small claw pierced into his shoulder and he cried out.

'Where do you think you're going?'
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